Kung POW!
by carebear88
Summary: A kind-of sequel to 'Oliver vs. Reid.' Luke and Reid are stuck doing work in a stuffy office. Luke/Reid. Rated T for some language.


**A/N: This is a kind-of sequel to 'Oliver vs. Channing. Thanks so much for the reviews so far! I'm really enjoying writing LuRe!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. For entertainment ONLY.**

* * *

Reid peered over the proposal he was reading. His feet were up on the desk—not his desk, by any means, but _a_ desk in the mostly-empty office of the hospital—and he pursed his lips as he looked across the room.

Lu—_Mr. Snyder_—was sitting on a swivel chair near the door, foot propped up on the coffee table and a take-out box of Kung Pao chicken in hand. His brown eyes were scanning an important-looking document, his brows knitted in a 'v' as he read. The smell of the Szechuan meal saturated the stuffy room.

Reid watched as Mr. Snyder lifted his chopsticks to his lips, lips that had something of a pout to them. Not in a whiny sort of way (though the kid certainly had an ear for that tune once in a while), but in an almost . . . come-hither way. His bottom lip was spoiled by a thin red cut near the corner of his mouth, almost invisible to someone who wasn't paying attention.

But Reid was paying attention.

A _lot_ of attention.

Reid cleared his throat and went back to reading. If he wanted to be out of here by midnight, he would have to concentrate harder. It was already ten-thirty and he and Luke had barely cracked the surface of the blueprints they had to go over, the grants they had to sign, and, dear God, did Mr. Snyder _have_ to keep the tips of those chopsticks on his lips as he chewed—?

Reid cleared his throat again, louder.

Ever since their moment in the hospital room after Luke had gotten that cut, Reid wondered if Luke felt what he had felt—

_No._

There was no "moment." There was nothing to "feel."

All that had happened was that Reid helped clean Luke's cut after the kid defended him to that jackass, Dr. Channing. The only thing he was feeling was gratitude, nothing more. There was no electricity, no magnetic force that kept pulling his eyes and his sense of smell to Mr. Snyder—

"What?"

Dr. Reid blinked. He hadn't realized he was looking at Luke again. Mr. Snyder stared at him quizzically, chopsticks digging through the take-out box for more chicken.

"_What_?" Reid echoed, as if Luke was the one spying.

"You were staring."

_Oh, shit._

"No I wasn't."

"You were," Luke said, a smirk forming on his face.

Reid sighed through his nose and hunkered deeper into his chair. "Yeah, well . . ." he pretended to read the proposal, "that smell is bothering me."

Luke looked in his container of food and raised an eyebrow at the doctor. "Do you _ever_ eat?"

"Why bother?" Reid mumbled. "It wastes time."

"Seriously, we've been here since four in the afternoon." Luke held out the box of Kung Pao to Reid. "Want some?"

"Mr. Snyder, do you know how much MSG is in that stuff?"

Reid heard a soft chuckle from Luke. "Is that doctor-speak for 'this will give you cancer'?"

"Judging by the grease stains on the bottom of that box, if the cancer doesn't get you first, a heart attack will."

"Well, don't worry, doctor, I'm as fit as a fiddle," Luke said, shoveling more chicken in his mouth as he read the important-looking document on his knee.

Reid glanced at Lu—_Mr. Snyder_—again.

No, there was no risk of the guy having a heart attack anytime soon, judging by his physique. Not that Reid was _judging_ such a thing, of course (Well. He was always judging something, this much was true), but he was simply . . . observing. The way a doctor usually did.

He was absolutely _not_ checking the guy out.

Reid chewed his thumbnail and went back to reading. He was tired and delirious and famished from sitting in this cramp office all day. He needed to get done, though, for the sake of the presentation tomorrow. He was nothing if not a perfectionist. If only that stupid, bratty Snyder kid would stop using his lips in such a—

Dr. Oliver heard something, like the sound of someone spitting gum on the sidewalk. It was faint, barely there, but in a small office with no air conditioning, it was deafening. Reid looked over from his paper where the noise came from, and saw a piece of Kung Pao chicken on the desktop.

Right. By. His. Heel.

Reid looked over at Luke, whose mischievous grin was hidden behind the take-out box. He glanced at the chicken again, then scowled at the young man and took his feet off the desk.

"Please don't tell me you just threw that at me," Dr. Oliver said, setting his papers down and sitting upright.

Luke lowered the box of food and pointed at the doctor with his chopsticks. "Now how do you know _I'm_ the one who did it?"

"I'm sorry, do I look twelve to you?"

"Whatch ya gonna do about it?" Luke said, smirking as he did a little wiggle in his chair.

"My mother told me never to acknowledge a bully."

Luke took his foot from the coffee table and sat up. "_You_ have a mother?"

"Yes, and she happens to be a very sweet woman."

"In what parallel universe?"

Reid shot Luke a warning look and the young man shut his mouth.

"Sorry," Luke said. His smirk remained.

Reid rolled his eyes and scooted his chair closer to the desk. He ignored the gray blob of chicken on the upper left corner of his workspace and pretended to read again.

"Doc-tor Ol-iv-_er_," Luke sang.

Reid looked up. He couldn't decide if he wanted to punch this kid on the other side of his gob or . . . well, something else to do with his lips, but the thought was pushed away so quickly, Reid didn't dwell on it. Mr. Snyder was leering at him still, holding the box of take-out in one hand and the chopsticks in another. Luke clacked his utensils at the doctor and motioned towards the desk.

"Aren't you going to pick that up?"

Reid looked at the oily piece of chicken Luke had thrown and back at the guy. "I'm not the one who chucked it at an innocent doctor. _You_ pick it up."

"My, my," Luke laughed, "_now_ who's being childish?"

"Mr. Snyder—"

"Luke."

"—we have a lot of work to get done by midnight and I, for one, would rather not turn into a pumpkin. Can we please get back to work?"

"I just want you to eat something," Luke said, in all sincerity. "You shouldn't work on an empty stomach."

"I shouldn't be working with a childish little rich boy, either, but here I am."

"What, that wasn't a pre-req in Harvard?"

Dr. Oliver's eyes darted to Mr. Snyder, who gave him a slow, cautious smile. Despite himself, Reid snorted a laugh. The sound of Luke echoing his snort was unexpectedly nice. It made the air around him seem lighter, the room bigger and more spacious. Hell, Reid could go so far as to say he was enjoying himself.

Reid made a grabbing motion. "Hand over that box of rice before it gets cold."

Luke took the smaller box of white rice from the coffee table and waved it in his hand. "You didn't say the magic word."

Reid sighed, but it wasn't an exasperated sigh. He didn't feel tired or even annoyed. That sigh was an act, a continuance of the game he had been so used to playing with Luke. Reid picked up the cold piece of chicken Luke had thrown at him and threw it right back. It sailed across the room and bounced off of Luke's head, right onto the floor.

"_Please_."

Luke looked at the doctor, utterly stupefied. He didn't think a man like him could play games or laugh or have fun. A week ago, if Dr. Oliver had done the same thing, Luke would have seen it as an act of spite or cruelty, but ever since their moment (yes, it _was_ a moment) in the hospital room after Luke had gotten punched, Dr. Oliver seemed different.

He seemed . . .

_Tolerable. _

Luke chuckled and stood with the box of rice. He moved around the coffee table and set in on Reid's desk. "So much for not acknowledging the bully."

"My mother never went to Harvard." Reid took the box from his desk and opened it, the smell of the rice flooding his senses and making his stomach grumble. He looked around for utensils. "What am I supposed to do, eat with my fingers?" He snapped his fingers at Luke. "C'mon, gimme some chopsticks, pronto."

"Oh, you mean these?" Luke turned from the coffee table with a pair of chopsticks in paper wrapping. He held them up with a know-it-all-grin.

"Very _good_, Mr. Snyder, you know your Asian cutlery. Now hand them over."

Luke scrunched his face up. "Naw, not until you say 'please.'"

"Yeah, I don't do 'please.'"

"I bet I can teach you," Luke, grinning widely.

Reid stood from his chair to Luke's height. "Mr. Snyder, you may have been able to train a herd of cats to drown themselves on that little farm your "good" dad owns, but trust me—you'll never teach me to say please."

"That sounds like a challenge."

"Just give them to me," Reid said, holding his hand out.

"No." Luke held the chopsticks behind his back.

Reid moved around the desk to his chopstick thief. "Mr. Snyder, I'm warning you—"

"Ooh, what're you gonna do?" Luke said, jumping backwards from Reid's sudden grasp. "Are you gonna slice my brain out with an ice-cream scooper?"

"Give it to me!" Reid lunged for the chopsticks again, but Luke jumped back.

"Say please!"

"This isn't funny! In fact, this is extremely childish!"

"Say please and I'll give them to you!"

Luke stumbled backwards, keeping Reid at a distance, until his back was to the wall and there was no more distance to keep. And still the game went on. Luke raised the chopsticks over his head, making Dr. Oliver reach for them.

"Knock it off!" Reid said.

He hated being demeaned like this, stooping to Mr. Snyder's juvenile level just because hunger and exhaustion clouded his brain. And yet, on some level, he was enjoying the game almost as much as Luke was. It was funny in its own way. Simple. It reminded Reid of a time when he was a boy and all it took to have fun was a game of keep-away.

"Oh, you're getting closer," Luke said, grinning as he switched the chopsticks to his other hand above his head.

"Come on!" Reid grabbed Luke's wandering wrist and pinned it to the wall. Just in case the other one decided to do something funny, he held it to the wall with his other hand, thoroughly restraining Luke to his position.

They looked at one another, and time stopped.

Luke's smile melted slowly. It was like watching a flower wilt in real time. Reid's own good humor dissipated as he held Mr. Snyder against the wall, his breathing shallow and his pulse jack-hammering from the game they had played. He could feel the blood pumping in his brain, traveling like lightning to something a little more . . . southern.

Reid swallowed the lump in his throat. He could feel Mr. Snyder's breath on his, the sweet, spicy scent of the Chinese food still on his tongue. Reid's stomach groaned. He looked at Luke's lips, those pouty lips that were always so quick with a rebuttal or an accusation. The cut on his lip was like a thread made of fire, swelling that one part of his skin just barely, just enough to invite him closer, closer, closer still . . .

Reid closed his eyes.

The space between them disappeared as he pressed his lips to Luke's, cautiously at first, his heart slamming in his chest as if wanting to break free. He could feel Luke's wrists relax even as he continued to pin him to the wall. When Luke kissed back, Reid took it as a sign and parted his lips to take more of him in.

Reid was starving, wanting more, dying to taste the Szechuan on Luke's tongue. The hungrier he felt, the more he kissed. His stomach guided his tongue and his heart pushed it further, and the brain?

Fuck the brain.

If the brain were in charge, it would have told him to stop by now, to knock it off and get back to work. It would have reminded him that Mr. Sny—_Luke_—was the enemy, someone to scorn in a town where idiots were a dime a dozen.

So for now, fuck the brain. He was too hungry to care.

Reid brushed his tongue along the cut on Luke's tongue, willing it to heal, eliciting a low moan from the young man. It sent a throbbing feeling right to his groin, stirring something he hadn't felt since he had been trapped in that elevator with Luke and had pushed him up against the wall when the guy tried to be funny. Reid thrust his tongue in Luke's mouth, famished with desire—a desire for food, a desire for sex, a desire to simply keep going.

He smiled a bit as he continued to kiss and ran his fingers up Luke's wrist, towards his hand where the man held fast to the chopsticks. Reid slid them from Luke's grasp and ended the kiss, pulling away slowly.

Luke looked at him, eyes wild and dancing with curiosity. His face screamed, _why did you stop?_ Reid dangled the chopsticks next to his face and gave the young man a smug grin.

"Told you you couldn't make me say 'please'."

Luke smirked slowly. He raised his eyebrows and said, "Wanna bet?" He crashed his mouth into Reid's, fully intent on feeding the stubborn doctor, one way or another.


End file.
